


Cesious Regress

by apologeticshoulderblades



Category: Marvel, Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apologeticshoulderblades/pseuds/apologeticshoulderblades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prophetic visions in the form of recurring nightmares; an identity reminder. Content warning for blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cesious Regress

**Author's Note:**

> _You are the refused energy from a superior form, nothing that occurs to you is intended for your involvement._

Soft, warm summer air blew it’s way into his bedroom, rapping the shutters of farmhouse ever so slightly, the moon leaking a pale light from the open window. The buzz of crickets outside was an afterthought, subtle. 

And like every time he had this dream, he arose from his bed to look out on the crops out in the field.  
It was familiar. To Evan, it was home. But even in his dreams, he knew it wasn't real.

Tolmen’s Field wasn't a real place in Kansas, and Kansas wasn't even where he was from. No, instead the first fifteen or so years of his life had been a simulation. His mother and father and his home were everything to him— except real. Despite this, he was always able to suspend some disbelief anyway, because he damn sure missed the place, whether it were an illusion or not.

He looked out upon the field, watching the wheat sway softly in the summer wind. This year would be a good one, he thought. By the looks of the crop, the spring had treated them well. In that moment, he could recall the comfort of such simplicity in this past life, completely different from a life that sometimes itself felt like a nightmare. 

“You are the weakest part of me.”

The sound should have startled him, but instead he found his half-lidded gaze fall upon his own hands, which were now soaked in blood, claret and thick. The shock faded, and his first instinct was to swing the door of his room and run to the bathroom, but he found himself instead stopped at the door to his parent's room on the way. 

He drew in a sharp breath and with a push found something that made his heart drop-- the bed was made perfectly, and his ma and pa weren't in it.

He then quickly turned and headed to the bathroom, flickering on the dim light and twisting the knob on the old sink. He watched as the now bright red fled from his hands, slithering contrast to the white porcelain of the sink. The pound of his heart grew steadily as he mustered up the courage to bring his eyes up to the mirror in front of him. He found immediate relief in the fact that his reflection of that of his own.  
He heard the voice again, smooth, clear and dark.

“You are an irrelevant effect. Impermanent.”

Out of nowhere, a blistering pain shot his head, causing him to slouch over, grey fingers spread out upon the porcelain keeping him steady. Through that he was able to muster a shaky word.

"No."  The dim lights flickered, seeming somehow seeming so bright now— white like his mother's knuckles when she would come into his room as a child and pray with him, white like linen that had had been hung up to dry. At that time, he had never understood why she placed so much importance on repentance; now he often wondered if he could repent for wrongdoing that existed in another life of his. In this was his reason for taking the name _Genesis_ : the origin of coming into being. The start.

The voice interrupted this thought. 

“If there is one thing you must understand, it is this— to refuse your genetic birthright is to be dead, mistaken. ”

  
He felt the blood begin to trickle down his face as the oncoming of a nosebleed. 

“No.”  He stated, voice stronger now.

And with the second gaze, a different face appeared in the mirror.  When this dream starting coming to him, he was settling into school. He wasn't able to give that face a name for the first few months, but now he knew what to call him:

  
Apocalypse.

  
And with the face gazing back at him, Evan grew indignant.

“NO!”

He brought his fists up and shattered the image in front of him, the pieces falling into the sink and onto the floor. He winced, opening his fist to see pieces of the reflective glass jutting into his palms and the outer sides of his left hand, the blood dripping onto the pieces of glass below, knuckles ponceau and raw. He drew in a deep breath.

“And you are mistaken…” The voice began once again, voice modulating itself into Evan’s own voice, southwestern twang and all. 

“If you think we aren’t the same.” 

 

* * *

 

He awoke with a gasp, but then found himself shocked at the other body lying to the right of his bed. 

"Quentin, what are you doing in my bed?" He nudged the other boy, who awoke with a grumble. 

"I don't like sleeping alone. Or in my own bed. Or alone in my own bed. Besides, you basically were screaming inside your own head, and that's rude as fuck."

"Really? Sorry."

Quentin smirked. "That's what I thought. Bad dream? Or fever dream? You're really sweaty. It's gross."

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Was it the same one you keep having?"

"Yeah. There's something dreams like that that I can't shake. They almost-"

"Feel too real?"

Evan furrowed his eyebrows. "Exactly. It's one of those dreams that makes you question which world is supposed to be the real one. It always feels _too real_."

Quentin nodded, and a momentary silence took hold before Evan spoke again.

"Do you ever miss home? The way things used to be?"

Quentin grimaced. 

"If you mean home as in where I was before the school, no. I don't. I don't miss the parents that didn't care about me or anything else about it." He paused, sighing. "I guess I miss when shit was less complicated, y'know, like, everything."

"Yeah. I think everything will be alright eventually. I mean, the people who were meant to do good things don't get to live an easy life. It's all a part of that duty, our destiny, I think. I think I can accept that, but still. It's been leavin' me downright nostalgic." He paused, drawing a breath in. "It's still so exciting, though. There's something so wholesome knowing that people exist to bring good to the world."

"Ugh." He rolled his eyes. "I was hoping that you would save the ironic savior-complex-y spiel for another time and just complain with me instead."

"Well, you were the one who snuck into my room to cuddle with me. I think you can put up with it."

"WHATEVER." Quentin scoffed, heat rising to his face. "I just don't really like to sleep. If I have do, I can't do it alone, it sucks. But in all honestly, if you keep going on like this, I'd much rather sleep with the actual Apocalypse." 

Evan then cupped the side of his face, placing a soft kiss on his roseate cheek.

"Liar."

He narrowed his eyes in response, tugging a loose lock of hair. "Someone needs to wash your filthy mouth out with soap from all of this slander." He gave him a smirk, then a peck. "Cuddle me now. No more talking."

A smile spread across the other boy's obsidian lips. "Hold on, I'm gonna run to the bathroom to wash my face."

He stepped out of his room and out to one of the bathrooms, the fluorescent light flickering on with a hum.  He turned the knob and let the  water flow freely through his hands for a moment before splashing some of it on his face. 

Slowing turning the water off, he felt his heartbeat grow in speed as he recalled and then comforted himself in the reality of his nightmare— that it was indeed all a dream. 

Eyes flickering up, his reflection attested this for a mere moment before a voice spoke to him softly. 

"There is no salvation for what you will do soon."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've always liked the idea of Apocalypse being like a darker part of Evan, I guess, maybe one that lives in his subconscious and eventually drives him into becoming the Apocalypse of the future. The song Gelid Ascent by of Montreal really painted a lot of imagery in my mind when I wrote this as well.


End file.
